Harry Potter:Death Dealer vs Lycan
by Colddrake
Summary: Set in Harry's fifth year.Voldemort has come back,but is in hiding while attempting to muster support from the giants, as well as the werewolves and vampires.But Dumbledore tries to intervene and the result of this brutal tug of war is unprecedented...
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters.

Author's Note: This note contains just some back-up info on the fic's setting and time period. This is in Harry's 5th year. The Order of the Phoenix is not introduced into this story yet. Harry is staying at the Dursleys'. Hermione is on vacation in Amsterdam. Ron is at his

Great-aunt's in Diagon Alley. Voldemort is in hiding and his activities are very quiet. Any word in italics is Parseltongue.

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Harry Potter: Death Dealer vs. Lycan

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Prologue

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Albus Percival Brian Wulfric Dumbledore looked up from a set of application papers to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. An immensely beautiful bird, with beautifully coloured plumage coloured a delicate mix of yellow, orange and red, was preening itself. The Headmaster smiled, thinking about this very scene in which he was sitting. He was asking himself how everything looks so _normal_ when, in reality, the wizarding world was in turmoil and his own mind was probably thinking about a dozen different ways to suck a lollipop, an invention by Muggles with which he was pleased. The word also happened to be the password to his office. But of course, only a few people knew that.

Something else which was on his mind was a certain black haired bespectacled boy with a lightning bolt-like scar on his forehead.

Dumbledore sighed. I wonder what that boy will have to do with this war, he thought. It was not the first, nor was it the last time that he thought about this.

The Headmaster returned to his work, feeling thankful for the solitude, as it helped him with his thinking. Fawkes, as was the name of the bird, a phoenix, crooned.

--

In stark contrast to this last scene, a tall and pale man leaned in a chair. His surroundings were grotesque. Blood covered the walls and most of the ground. The house he was in was almost a ruin. There was a murmur around the house, but that did not matter, thought the man. There were no other humans within a hundred miles of this place. The area was filled with dense forest, and the house was situated in a clearing.

The man snorted, displeasured. Wormtail had to be commended, if only slightly, for picking this rather rundown house for the base of the most evil and powerful dark magic present in the wizarding world at

present.

At that moment, a huge snake crawled into the room, hissing softly. The man looked around and saw the scaly reptile. But, instead of leaping up in terror, he simply smiled, and strangely, hissed himself. This would have been deemed strange by most normal people, but, this man was definitely not normal. His nostrils were slits, his skin was unnaturally pale, and his eyes were red and shone with an eerie brightness. No, he was Lord Voldemort, and that meant he was not normal, not even to the slightest degree.

"_Ah, Nagini, my faithful pet. I hoped you would come. I long for sssome intelligent conversssation. These foolsss who call themselvessss my sssservantssss should firsst have learned a lesson in Communicative English before joining my rankssss. I do not know why I dessisst from punishing them." _spat Voldemort.

"_I agree, Massster. They are asss gracceful as wild elephants. A few of them have very nearly ssstepped on me, and those who have, have recccieved bruisessss to remember." _hissed the snake, coiling itself lovingly around the Dark Lord's bony hand.

Then Lord Voldemort laughed, a terrible thing to hear. He laughed long and heartily at this little, witticism, from his beloved pet. Not many were able to have this effect on the Dark Lord. Most just crawled and grovelled in front of him. Otherwise, they screamed for mercy, or screamed in pain.

Then he stopped, and set his mind to work on his latest scheme. This time, he mused, Harry Potter might just fall into the trap...

--

"Ouch!" yelled Ronald Weasley as a small creature with a long nose and sharp claws jumped up and scratched his nose, before kicking him soundly in his shin and running off.

Ron moaned disgustedly as sickly green pus started to come out from his red nose, contrasting with his freckles and fiery red hair.

I hate gnomes, he thought angrily. Ron couldn't believe what had happened this summer. His dad had won a lottery for three tickets to Italy, and just when he thought he was going to have a vacation, he was unceremoniously told that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were not taking him, but instead, his little sister Ginny was accompanying them. Percy was in the Ministry, Bill was in Egypt trying to work out a transfer to Gringotts, Charlie was in Romania working on dragons, and Fred and George opted to stay and try working out their plans for a joke shop. And that left him, Ron. So he was taken to his Great-Auntie Muriel. Besides, it so turned out that Muriel had a problem with garden gnomes, doxys, and an old goblin that lived above Ron's room in Muriel's apartment. The goblin had worked in Gringotts, and he talked in his sleep, as well as hitting the floor with a thick iron rod at night, screaming, "And that will teach you to rob from Gringotts! Here, take this! And that!" He also laughed creepily just when Ron was feeling drowsy, waking him up with a jolt.

Ron sighed dejectedly, wiping pus from his black and blue nose with a tissue. He went up to his room to wash his nose. This cut seemed to be on of the bad ones. He picked up a piece of parchment from his table and thought about writing a long-winded narrative about a terrible vacation to his best friends. He decided against it, and instead tore the parchment in half. On one half he wrote,

_Dear Harry,_

_Vacation sucks. Hope the Muggles treat you well. I tried calling from my great-aunt's felly-tone, but a weird kind of buzzing comes from your end. Muggle inventions are dumb. Just look at the rubber ducky and the teddy bear. Anyway, I just thought I'd write a line, you know. I am weighed down by chores. I'll explain on the train back to school._

_Write back. I'm tired of just sitting here and doing work like a bloody house elf._

_Ron._

_P.S: Don't tell the last bit to Hermione. She'll murder me._

Ron surveyed his work, and then turned to the other parchment.

_Dear Hermione,_

_My vacation sucks. Been a bit since your last owl. So I thought that I would write a line or two. Harry told me you went to Hamsterdorm or something. He told me that you can't send owls because of the 'Muggle proximity'. I can't wait to go back to Hogwarts. September the First, come faster. I'll send this with Pig now, since Mom and Dad took Errol with them to Italy. Wish I could have gone._

_Ron._

"Oy, Pig! Get over here!" shouted Ron. Almost immediately, a small blur rocketed towards him from the rafters of his room, knocking Ron off his chair. He landed hard on the wooden floor, bumping his head against the wall. Ron swore aloud, and then picked up the small blur, that turned out to be an owl. It had screeched to a stop just beside him on the floor. Ron got up, dusting himself off. He went to his desk and fetched the two pieces of rolled up parchment, one with _'Harry'_ on it and the other with _'Hermione'._ Then he shook Pigwidgeon for good measure. "You will give these to Harry and Hermione, and then you will come right back! If it's at midnight that you come back, don't wake me up for an Owl Treat. If it's early morning, don't wake me up. Don't bother Hedwig at Harry's or she'll give you an even worse scratching than the last time. Okay?" said Ron, carefully intoning the words. He had to tend to a bloody Pigwidgeon for nearly a week after he had knocked Hedwig off her perch to drink some water. Whatever happened, Ron certainly did not want another chore to add to his pile. He sighed exasperatedly, and let Pig go. He nipped him hard on his ear, then rocketed out of the window. Ron rubbed his ear, then went to the living to take care of a rather nasty Doxy.

--

Harry Potter is known to every wizard and squib as the 'Boy who Lived'. But, seeing him now would spoil that name.

Harry Potter lay prostrate on his bed in a small room in the house of his Aunt Petunia Dursley and his Uncle Vernon Dursley. His mouth was open and there was a tiny amount of saliva near the right side of his lower lip. His spectacles were askew. His T-shirt was far too large for his skinny frame. So were his trousers, which could have been an elephant's underwear. In other words, they were hand-me-down clothing, worn by his humungous cousin Dudley Dursley, who loved to remind him of that fact. But, his beauty sleep was short lived.

The small blur that we now know to be Ron's owl Pigwidgeon burst in through the window and landed on Harry's face. Harry woke up with a yell, muttering something that sounded oddly like, "Don't kill me Darth Vader! I already have a bad guy after me!"

"Oh not again!" moaned Harry, yawning. "Pig, I hate you...officially."

The small hyper active owl just whizzed around Harry's room until Harry caught its legs. That was no problem for Harry, as he was an avid follower and player of the wizard sport Quidditch, which involved three tall hoops on either side of what looked like a football ground, two black balls that would love to beat the hell out of you, a large red ball like a basketball that has to be put through the hoops for ten points, and the most troublesome of the lot, a small golden ball with wings that flutters around playing hide and seek. It hides, you seek. But the unfair thing about it is that the small golden ball, called a Snitch, is allowed to move about from its hiding place, while you have to look around for it in any wizard's favoured mode of transportation, a broomstick. Yes, I did say 'broomstick'. The red ball is called the Quaffle, while the black balls are called Bludgers. But now, we have to return to the story.

In his house Gryffindor's Quidditch team, it was Harry's job to find the Snitch. Therefore he was quite capable of catching small blurs that whizzed around his head.

He untied the parchment from Pigwidgeon's leg, and allowed it to go to Hedwig's perch for a drink of water and an Owl Treat.

He read Ron's letter, smiling a bit. Pig had come back and plopped on his bed, waiting expectantly.

"No, little guy. I'll send Ron a line in the morning with Hedwig. Tell him that, and you stop waking me up at midnight, you hear?"

Pig nipped his finger and flew off into the night. Harry had noticed the other parchment on his leg labelled 'Hermione'. So Ron must be getting pretty lonely, thought Harry. Then he remembered guiltily that he was supposed to have written a note to Ron nearly a fortnight ago.

Harry shook himself of the thought and lay down on his bed once more, promising to write to Ron again the next.

Just as these normal and mundane thoughts were passing through the lean 15 year-old boy's head, pain exploded in his head and made him cringe and scream out, clutching his scar.

Remarkably, at that same moment, Lord Voldemort had laughed in a ruined house surrounded by dense forest in the country of Argentina, South America.

Author's Note: The title, 'Death Dealer vs. Lycan, shall be explained only later on. And don't worry; I did not forget Hermione's doings. They will be explained...wait for it..._later on._ Oh, and Death Dealer and Lycan is like nicknames for vampire and werewolf. Yes, here's a hint, Remus Lupin will be involved quite a bit. As will all the characters. I'm sure I can get the Bloody Baron a small part..._ahem, ahem. _

As with all writers, I plead: READ & REVIEW!

Peace.

P.S: Just for the record: I will acknowledge each and every review I get, no matter what the content.


	2. An Attack with a Bang

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any related characters. They belong to Joanne Kathleen Rowling, who possesses a great mind.

Author's note: I have not received a review yet, even though the first chapter was extra long, but I shall not give up! Second chappy up, guys. Give me at least one review!

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Chapter 1

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An Attack with a Bang

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Headquarters of the Ministry of Magic, England

A short and stout man barged in between a group of black robed wizards, looking quite out of breath. "Out of my way, please! Excuse me, Shacklebolt! Miss Peters, a bit of space cannot be grudged! Ah, you must be new, otherwise I'd know you, but please, excuse me!"

"Of course, Minister." murmured the robed wizards, creating a way for the Minister of Magic and one of the most influential people in existence, Cornelius Fudge. Wiping some sweat from his red face, the Minister placed his bowler hat upon his head and advanced to a door marked 'Operations Room'.

He made a point of dusting off his robes, and then entered in what he thought was a very grand manner.

Sitting around a long table were a large number of witches and wizards, all in the black robes with a badge pinned primly on the chest area. But there was one unexpected visitor...

"Ah, Good morning, Cornelius. I trust you have had a pleasant day so far?" said Albus Dumbledore happily.

"My day has been perfectly peachy, thank you!" said Fudge hotly. "Better if your wonder boy Harry Potter had not decided on making the wizarding world think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is back!"

"Cornelius, I trust Harry. I have known him for four years, and he has proved unwaveringly brave, courageous and clever, and as he knows that his parents have died protecting him from Voldemort, the very wizard he is supposed to have made up, I do not expect him to make anything up." said Dumbledore calmly, while the other wizards in the crowded room looked dumbstruck as to the audacity of the Headmaster of Hogwarts to address the Minister like he had.

Fudge looked about to answer and then shut his jaw, twiddling with his bowler hat, his constant companion. "But, Albus, do you actually expect me to believe that You-Know-Who is back? After all these years, when all his followers have been dormant, I don't expect them to return when a..._tattoo_ on their hands starts to glow and heat up! There is no proof, Albus! Give me proof!"

"Harry Potter is proof, Cornelius. And if the Death Eaters did not return to Voldemort, they, along with their families would be cruelly murdered without a second thought." Dumbledore explained patiently.

"That does not fall under my definition of proof, Dumbledore! Harry Potter is probably slightly mentally deranged! Look at the year before the Triwizard Tournament! Albus...he blew up his _aunt_!" Fudge said, his face growing redder.

"That was pure accident, Cornelius. A wizard of his power, when he loses control of his magic, well, the results can be _drastic_. But I understand that event was successfully covered by your Ministry. So why bring up past matters now, Cornelius?"

"_Accident?_ Albus if you knew...if you knew how many memory changes we had to make on the Muggles that came to check what the noise was about...his aunt was literally in pieces when we arrived, Albus! Due to the record of lies and troubles caused to the Ministry by Harry Potter, I absolutely refuse to believe in...In You-Know-Who rising from the dead!"

"Ah, so that is what this is about...Cornelius, you just don't want to admit it. If the wizarding world finds out that the Ministry accepts Voldemort's comeback, there will be widespread panic. You can't deal with that, can you?" Dumbledore said quietly. "You have grown fond of power, Cornelius. You have changed since when you were elected Minister."

The Headmaster drew himself up to his full height, turned and walked to the door.

Just before he went out, however, he turned and looked penetratingly at the Minister of Magic. "Oh, and Cornelius? If you didn't believe in Lord Voldemort's return, then why did you call this meeting to organize an Auror attack of near half force on the Albanian forest, where you believe there was a sighting of seven Death Eaters mentioned in Harry's account? Let me tell you, Cornelius: there is no way that you will be able to suppress this movement so easily. Even your full force Auror attack will not be enough. For the Death Eaters, the price of failure is extreme pain, or death at the hands of a man who will have no qualms about doing it, and indeed, doing more than that.

Cornelius Fudge paled visibly at the slightly scathing words of the Headmaster. He turned to look at the robed wizards in the room. Several of them were taking pains to try not meeting his gaze.

Dumbledore exited the room, and only then did Fudge regain his composure.

"Let us get back to the issue at hand, gentlemen, and women." said Fudge. This attack would succeed, he was sure of it. And thus, the wizarding world would be rid of a menace that they didn't even know about.

--

Harry Potter screamed out and he dropped to his knees. At about the same time, a huge shout was heard from below the house. Harry clutched his throbbing scar. Just as he was pulling himself back together and about to stand up, his room door burst open, with his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia standing in the doorway. His uncle's face was purple. That was definitely not a good sign. His aunt looked as though she was doing all in her power to try hold onto her husband and stop him from beating his nephew to a pulp.

"I have had enough of this, you understand! Screaming every night since he returned from...his dratted _school_! I tell you, boy, next time you do this, you will never return to your _lot_!" screamed his uncle, now becoming an interesting shade of red and purple.

"Wuz goin' on, dad?" said Dudley Dursley groggily, Harry's huge cousin who had 'graciously' allowed Harry to have his old room and clothes.

"Nothing, Duddykins, darling. Go back to sleep. Come on, Vernon." said Aunt Petunia, dragging her husband away.

Harry sighed, got to his feet and locked his door. He sank back onto his bed. It was not the first time that his scar had hurt that summer. He had grown used to it. But this time it was just a bit quicker than he had expected. He had weathered a lot of pain the past few years, but his scar hurting was equally mental as was it physical.

He tried his best to will himself a dreamless sleep, and then shut his eyes wearily.

And snapped them open quickly. What was that emotion he had felt? It was not his, which he was sure of. He was feeling a bit angry at the Dursleys. But the thought that came to his head was laughter, and a lot of happiness at something he didn't know.

He turned on his side, shrugging. Where was Hermione when you need her? The real answer came to his head suddenly that he had to stifle a laugh. He certainly didn't want his uncle start feeding him through the doggy door that he had fitted to his normal door the year before last. _In Amsterdam, of course._

--

"Mommmmmm! Dadddddddd! You don't know how happy I am to see you! Ginny, even though you're a nasty brat, you're the most beautiful sight I've seen in two months!" said a scratched-all-over Ronald Weasley to his surprised parents and little sister, who had come directly from the Transport Ministry Office to pick him up from his Great Auntie Muriel's house.

"Oh, really, Ron! Try acting your age! It can't have been that bad!" said his mother chidingly.

"I believe it was just that bad, Molly. Look at his face. I daresay Aunt Muriel made you attempt rid her garden of gnomes and her house of doxys and then you weren't able to sleep because of a murderous old goblin that lived above you room, Ron?" asked Mr. Weasley, a slight trace of a grin on his face.

Ron gaped at his father. Was he a psychic, or what?

"No, I'm not a psychic nor am I a mind reader. I just happen to know that because my dad left me here for a month before my third year because he had to go to the Quidditch World Cup with my mother. He was a hopeless romantic. He said he wanted to spend _quality time_ with my mom, so he promised to take me to the next World Cup. But, of course, that was impossible then. A certain gentleman who went by the name of Zarono decided to take over the wizarding world at that time. He was the 11th Dark Wizard that the wizarding world had seen. You-Know-Who was the 13th. Quite a coincidence. 13 and 7 are the most magical numbers ever." Mr. Weasley said, his grin replaced by a grimace at the last words. "So, suffice to say, I saw the Quidditch World Cup for the first time in my life last year."

Ron nodded, and then trudged happily off towards his dad's new car: a brand new Jaguar S-Type, a result of a huge pay raise coupled with the little he had been saving already for a second hand Cadillac. The pay raise had come with a promotion: his dad was now the Head of the Department of Muggle Co-operation. An important job these days, Ron thought. At least it warranted the fancy car. Ron loved the sleek automobile. He spent an hour everyday washing the vehicle from top to bottom till he could see his freckled face reflected in the shining silver bonnet. Ron sighed contentedly. Just three weeks to September the First! He listened half-heartedly to Ginny talk about their visit to the Leaning Tower of Pisaat this point, Ron asked his mom whether there was a pizzeria next to the place, only to be bonked on his head by his hyper active sister telling him to not be silly..

The Jag pulled up at the Burrow, which, even when the Ministry gave him the choice, Mr. Weasley refused to have the house pulled down and get a bigger one erected instead. The entire family agreed heartily on that, except perhaps Percy, who was a wee bit put off at having to remain at the cramped house.

Percy had also got a promotion. He was now the Junior Assistant to the Minister and his second, Mrs. Dolores Umbridge. He had, as he said, been asked by the Minister to move into a posh flat nearly next door to the office, but he had rejected saying that he might miss them. Mrs. Weasley was pleased at that. However, Fred had muttered softly to his brothers and sister that Percy was in reality scared of the dark, as Fred had found out when he locked him in his bedroom at night with the lights turned off. When Fred returned, Percy was crying and had wet his pants. Fred had made Percy promise not to rat him out to Mrs. Weasley, if he intended to keep his secret a secret.

But then again, this is Fred we're talking about. His reason for divulging the secret was: Percy's a prat, anyway. That explains everything.

Ron was on cloud nine as he finally relaxed. After his dad's account of the harrowing experience at Aunt Muriel's, his mom had given him the 'fuss treatment' as George said it. Ah, this was the life.

--

Forest, Albania

A group of robed wizards were moving in on an area which was supposed to be where Voldemort's base was supposed to be. They were Aurors, Dark wizard police, you can say. They were at half-strength. They were told of their mission in secret by the Minister of Magic and their head, Cornelius Fudge of their mission and were warned to convey the message to none else.

Their leader was an old veteran named Petersen, Order of Merlin, Second Class. He led his team very well, which was why he had been chosen.

The group was now on the verge of a clearing. There was no news of the scouts that had been sent out. Probably got lost, many of them thought.

The detachment arrived on the clearing. There was a roaring fire, and a lot of Death Eaters, as everyone knew the hooded wizards to be.

A sudden panic broke upon Petersen. He turned around. Beyond his group, more and more Death Eaters were approaching. The news was the same for all sides. Petersen swallowed.

They were surrounded.

Author's note: Thus the plot begins to unfold! Review, please! I promise to update regularly! The title is not proved for now, but it will be in the next chapter, or the one after that latest. Hermione's visit to Amsterdam is still shrouded in secret. You won't find out about that till Hogwarts reopens on September the First.

Peace.


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